


Touch, Touched, Touching

by valancy_joy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancy_joy/pseuds/valancy_joy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times, three touches, none of them easy. Well, maybe the last one ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch, Touched, Touching

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up my googledocs and decided to clean this up and post it. Been awhile since I posted any Torchwood fic.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“What is it Ianto?”

“She used to look at me like that. I can't. I don’t want...”

“Tell me what you do want,” Jack said softly, looking at the man sitting next to him on the tatty sofa.

“It doesn't matter,” Ianto mumbled.

“It does matter. You matter. Tell me. Let me try to help.”

Ianto sat there for a long time, looking down at his hands in his lap. Jack sat patiently beside him hoping Ianto could take this step.

Ianto finally took a long deep breath and curled his fingers over Jacks.

“It's been so long,” he said softly, raggedly.

Ducking his head and staring at where their fingers were joined Ianto asked, brokenly, “Touch me?”

*****

For someone who rather doubted the existence of a God, Ianto Jones rather liked the Christmas season. He liked the snow, he liked the fairy lights, he liked the shoppers carrying brightly wrapped packages. He like to slip into churches during their Christmas eve services and sit in the back and watch the people gathered together to celebrate believing in something bigger than themselves. There wasn't a lot of room for blind faith in Ianto's life, but he liked to think he made room for hope. He'd sit there in the dimly lit sanctuaries and watch the candles flicker, and smile at the well-dressed families.

And it's not like the irony of Jesus having roughly the life expectancy of a Torchwood operative escaped him.

Seen in the right light, all those bible miracles made so much more sense if you knew what Ianto knew about alien life forms, and mysterious energy patterns and such.

So while he sort of hated himself for doing something that felt this needy, it didn't stop him from finding himself on the Plaas after the services, gazing around at the people, waiting until no one was looking in his direction before stepping onto just the right paving stone.

Jack had taught him to feel the subtle shimmer of the perception filter. It was just the barest whisper across his exposed skin. Just a tiny tingle in his fingertips, and a slight brush across his neck and around his shirt collar. He watched a jogger pass him by within arms reach, and never blink. His eyes slid closed as he remembered Jack's bringing him up here, encouraging him to slip out of his clothes so that he could feel the flickering of the filter across his skin. He had protested at first. Jack thought it was shyness, but Ianto had just felt silly, stripping off in plain sight. But Jack had talked him through it, standing behind him, close but not touching him. The whispers of Jack's voice, encouraging him to reach out and feel the power of this spot. Then, it had been a warm summer night, and Ianto had, at Jack's urging unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. After a minute, Ianto had slipped the shirt off entirely and stood there, fingers outstretched, trying to sense what Jack was assuring him was there.

“Feel it around you, Ianto, see if you can sense it. It's a bit like static electricity.”

And indeed the first time Ianto felt a pinprick of energy, a small tendril of sensation buzzing around his wrist, he jumped as if he'd been shocked. Jack had put his hands on Ianto's hips then, steadying him. The warmth and closeness of Jack must have acted like a conduit then, for suddenly, the little tickle around his wrists was spreading across his skin.

"That's ... that's amazing, Jack."

"Isn't it? And that's just the echo of the real thing," Jack had whispered in his ear.

Ianto had turned in his arms then and kissed him, and they'd kept kissing for a while, just reveling in the touch of the other’s hands, and the added sensations of the energy that surrounded them. It was a bit like an extra pair of hands, Ianto had thought, before he was lost to the sensations of Jack's mouth on his skin, and the crawl of the energy up his spine.

And now here today, with Jack gone, and Ianto lonelier than ever, he stepped onto the paving stone, and took what pleasure he could find from the embrace of a bit of ghost energy while the stars twinkled in the clear cold sky overhead.

*****

There were some nights when he was absolutely insatiable. Jack loved him like that greedy and panting, "More... more, please..." and Jack would take him with his dick, his fingers, or one of the toys he kept in the box under his bunk. Those adrenaline filled nights where they'd get back from some late night Weevil hunt, and Ianto would slam him up against the armoury windows and kiss him with hard needy kisses full of teeth, and growl, "I want you in me NOW."

And Jack was never one to resist the direct approach. Trousers dropped he'd kick Ianto's feet a bit further apart with his boots, and fingers slicked and ready, he'd breach Ianto and listen to him moan. It never took long before Ianto was pushing back against his hand and demanding more. Jack would slide inside him with one firm solid push, Ianto's sweaty hands leaving streaks on the windows, their breaths fogging the glass. And he would rock into him over and over again, drawing it out for a long as possible. Ianto would never say much, but the flush would spread across his shoulders. Jack loved to watch Ianto shiver beneath him as he traced the flush with hands, or tongue, or lips, raising gooseflesh, and ratcheting up the pleasure of the man in his arms.

Jack loved the helpless whines he could elicit when he had Ianto flushed and whimpering from the feeling of Jacks cock sliding into him, while Jack hand was wrapped around Ianto's dick and Jack's other hand was in Ianto's mouth. There was nothing better than watching Ianto writhing from the sensations, coming apart under him, coming all over the window.

And Ianto would turn around, and kiss him, and kiss him, and whisper, "Oh, god, let’s do that again."

They'd strip and kiss, and touch, and they'd fuck on the couch, face to face this time contorting themselves in ways they had learned also came in handy for a quick fuck in the SUV. Thrusting hard and fast, they'd race to see who came first, both of them panting, slick with sweat, and grasping on to each other for leverage.

And so it would go on nights like those. Ianto always wanting more and more, and Jack obliging, keeping him on the edge of pain and pleasure, matching Ianto desire for desire. For Ianto was beautiful when he was greedy, and Jack liked to know that sometimes, on some few nights, when they could wear each other out with pleasure, that in that moment, Ianto was able to get exactly what he wanted. Torchwood had taken so much. And this kind of pleasure was easy to give back. So Jack was happy to oblige.


End file.
